


YOU MAKE FLOWERS GROW (IN MY LUNGS)

by AgnesClementine



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Friends With Benefits, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Mick is frustrated, Sick!Len, Smut, Swearing, and oblivious, len is stubborn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-06-28 11:00:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15705888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgnesClementine/pseuds/AgnesClementine
Summary: Some people tell people they love that they love them. Len opts to die. Literally.





	1. 0. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So, few things before you continue.  
> 1\. I'm sleep deprived and have a headache  
> 2\. I'm not a doctor, so if something seems iffy it probably is (science works if you squint and don't think too hard about it)  
> 3\. This is *hopefully* going to be multiple chapters work (I aim to at least 3)  
> 4\. There's not much Mick/Len interaction in this first chapter (but there will be later)  
> 5\. Comment and enjoy!

Len doesn't notice it at first. Of course, there's shortness in his breath even when he's not doing anything too physical that's hard to ignore and sometimes getting up too quickly makes him dizzy. He figured it's because of his poor eating; it never really mattered to him if he starved as long as Lisa had everything she needed. When Lewis got caught and shipped off to Iron Heights, the only thing that changed was Len's ability to give Lisa what she needed as well as what she wanted.

But then he's watching TV one morning, coffee in hand. Everything's fine until Mick walks out of is room (Lisa went off to college and this house was the closest one to the dorms- it didn’t hurt it was perfectly functional in every way either) with a girl Len recognizes from the bar they were in last night and Len is hit with pain so sudden it leaves him breathless for a moment. He breathes through it, the sensation akin to having something sharp jammed between his ribs every time he coughs, and sets his coffee on the table.

When the pain lessens- leaving him freaked out ( _that’s not fucking normal_ )- he glances up to see Mick giving him a suspicious look.

“You alright?” Mick asks. His friend is hanging in the back. Len knows that he said it didn’t bother him when Mick asked, probably out of courtesy because they sleep together occasionally, but he can’t help but feel somewhat wrong whenever Mick brings his dates to their place. Anyway, it’s not like he can say, “ _Hey, because I happen to suck your dick from time to time, I’d really appreciate it if you did your one- night stands somewhere else._ ” Len is an asshole, but not enough of one to tell Mick he can’t do what he wants in his own house.

Len waves him off, “Fine. Coffee just went the wrong way,” he drawls with a scowl. He supposes Mick would rather go with the girl than stay to watch Len breathe and drink coffee and Len can take care of himself just fine.

Mick only grunts in response.

“See you later.” He says, already halfway to the door. Len watches the point where Mick’s hand is touching the girl’s tiny waist, refocusing on his coffee only when the door closes behind them.

Though now that he’s alone, he reaches for his phone instead of his mug. He allows his fingers to ghost over his side, part of him wanting to make sure there’s really nothing there even as he waits for the call to connect.

Three rings in, it finally does.

“ _Dr. Bonham’s office, how may I help you?_ ”

●●●●●

Dr. Bonham’s office is an hour drive away from their current living place. She came in as a recommendation, rumored to being willing to turn a blind eye to shady stuff, but Len has never been a patient of hers until now.

She’s a slim woman in middle thirties with brown pixie cut- and Len is having second thoughts. _What if he’s overreacting?_

“Mr. Rothman,” she starts, “you came because of chest pain, correct?”

_Well, it’s actually between his ribs, but,_ “Yes.”

She writes down the symptoms he informs her about, checks his heart rate and breathing with a stethoscope- and then frowns. Which is not what you want your doctor to do when doing a check-up.

“Mr. Rothman, would you agree to an x-ray?” She asks him.

“You know what’s wrong with me?”

Her eyebrows pinch, “I have an idea. I need an x-ray of your lungs to confirm it, though.” She doesn’t sound like she’ll be pleased if she’s right.

“Okay. Let’s do the x-ray.” He agrees.

The x-ray plus results are additional one hour in hospital, but when Dr. Bonham finally returns with his results, he feels better. No matter what, Len never liked being kept in the dark about anything.

“So? Your theory panned out?” He questions as soon as the door closes.

She sighs, opening the envelope with his x-rays and starts to put them up.

“Unfortunately, yes.” She responds and clicks on the light that shows him exactly what’s on his x-rays.

His ribs are white contrast to the black of his lungs. His lungs are fine, as much as he can tell- at least he thinks so until his eyes drop lower and get caught on dozen tiny, grey- bordering- on- white dots at the bottoms.

Dr. Bonham lets him look at the x-rays in silence for a moment.

Finally he turns to look at her. “So I’ve got lung cancer?”

He knows to light up a cigarette or two when he’s frustrated or upset, but he doesn’t smoke so much it could cause lung cancer. Though, this is exactly the kind of shit that would happen to him.

But Dr. Bonham shakes her head. “You’ve noticed the dots.” She states. “But they’re not tumors.”

“Then what?”

“You, Mr. Rothman, have what’s called Hanahaki disease.”

Len feels his eyebrows rise. “ _The flower thing?_ ”

She nods. “The flower thing. Although, the dots are not in fact flower petals.” She comes to perch on the edge of her desk, facing Len. “You see, our lungs are made of alveoli, that look like tiny bubbles. And what happens here is that they fill up with vein blood instead of aorta blood, so there’s no oxygen in them. That causes them to start dying and literally tearing themselves from healthy tissue. That’s where the flower petals myth comes from, eventually they fill up the lungs and you start coughing them out because your body is trying to get rid of the waste.” She finishes.

Well, _shit_. What the hell was Len supposed to do now?

He looks up at her, suddenly startled. “It’s not genetic, is it?”

She shakes her head quickly. “No, no. As far as research tells, the cause is actually purely psychological.”

_Thank God._

Then her expression turns pitying. “But in all cases it was proven that the cause of the illness is heartbreak or unrequited love. You’re dying of sadness.”

Len feels his throat close up, his tongue heavy in his mouth. “Oh.”

Suddenly, it all makes sense.

“Mr. Rothman, I understand this is a shock for you-”

_No, not really. It’s actually really fucking obvious_.

“- but I’m obliged to inform you that you have an option of psychotherapy treatment.”

“Does it work?”

A pause. “It’s successful in 1.2% cases.”

_Of- fucking- course_. Fuck lung cancer. _This_ is the kind of shit that would happen to him.


	2. 1.	The Fine Art Of Pretending

When he leaves Dr. Bonham’s office and gets back to their house, Mick is still gone. Len doesn’t mind it as much as he usually would. He’s walking through a haze, everything toned down and numb, almost like he’s not in his own body, just observing through a thick, transparent veil. He might be in shock.

He drops the inhaler and pamphlet on his bed, then plops down next to them face- first. Well, it’s not really inhaler; it looks like one, but it converts the air into pure oxygen because Len’s shit lungs can’t do that very well on their own anymore, but Len was past the point of listening when Dr. Bonham was telling him how it’s called. He was caught up on her estimation. He’s got about two months.

The pamphlet is the one he plans on burning before Mick gets his hands on it. It’s ‘everything you need to know’ kind of pamphlet, with a bunch of statistics, doctors’ advices and diagrams and Len doesn’t need Mick knowing about it. In fact, Len doesn’t plan on telling him he’s dying at all. How could he? There’s no cure (psychotherapy doesn’t count because it doesn’t actually work) and all it would do is make Mick miserable before Len even died. Speaking of it, Lisa can’t know either. She had enough of it when addiction was killing her mother, even if she was too young to properly understand what’s happening. Both Mick and Lisa didn’t deserve to carry this burden with him. How could he willingly make them feel useless and helpless because they have to watch him die and can’t do anything to stop it? He can’t. He might be a cold bastard, but he’s gonna die choking on his own blood and not making a sound if it spares them the pain.

 

●●●●

 

He’s still in his room when the front door opens. The window is open and pamphlet destroyed and he’s got his cigarette pack in one hand because, _fuck it, he’s dying anyway_.

“Lenny? You here?” Lisa calls from outside and Len tucks the pack under his pillow before rising to his feet.

“Yeah.” He calls out, makes his way to the living room.

Lisa is curled on a sofa, a bag of Chinese takeout on the coffee table in front of her. She’s watching Malcolm in the Middle rerun, not even sparing a glance at him.

“Hey, be a good brother and bring me a glass of water, yeah?” She asks bossily.

He snorts and redirects his route to the kitchen. If anything, it’s going to take his mind off this thing.

 

  * ●●●●



 

Late afternoon and Mick finds him lounging on the couch. Len feels it immediately, the tightness in his chest, his throat closing up, and wonders how the hell he hadn’t connected the dots before. He tries clearing his throat, though it doesn’t help much.

Mick grunts in greeting and nudges his feet off the cushions, so he can sit (read: drop down) on the couch.

“What was that in the morning?” He asks, grabbing a discarded container of something Lisa couldn’t finish.

“What?”

“Coughing. Don’t think I didn’t notice you had trouble breathing lately. So what’s up?”

Huh, looks like Mick did spend some time watching him breathe. Weird.

Len shrugs, well as much as he can in this position. “Nothing, everything’s fine.” He lies, but then because he can’t really lie to Mick, “My lungs are a bit fucked- up is all,” _understatement of the damn century_ , “but I’m gonna be fine.”

_Spoiler alert: he really fucking won’t_.

Mick hums in response. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” _No_.

“You got something for it?” He asks curiously; he knows Len hates pills and will avoid taking them at any cost.

“Inhaler.” He responds, pointedly turns his face to the TV.

Mick hums again, letting him off the hook, but Len can see him shooting suspicious glances at him every few minutes.

 

  * ●●●●



 

They don’t do this very often, but when they do, this is how it starts in most cases. They would lounge around the house and inevitably end up in the living room. Maybe spend some time flipping through the channels, but as soon as Mick deemed him ‘in the mood’, he’d ask- in his usual bold way that’s so stupidly endearing to Len- “ _Wanna fuck?_ ”

That would be closely followed by making out and groping on the couch and end with Len sometimes on his knees, sometimes on his back, in one of their bedrooms. Or bathroom. Hell, sometimes they just do it where they start it, they’re not picky.

Today, they’re still on the couch because- apparently- Len’s poor heart can’t take more than kissing and some heavy petting. It sucks and Len doesn’t get it. If he’s so lovesick then shouldn’t his heart get a kick out of this. Though, it’s definitely getting a kick, just not a pleasant kind.

He breaks the kiss with hands on Mick’s shoulders and takes in a deep breath. Well, as deep as his lungs allow him.

Mick stills, almost lying on top of him and looks at him with a frown on his face. “What’s wrong?”

Len takes a second for his head to stop spinning before he responds. “Just needed to take some air.”  Then he tugs Mick back in for another kiss- because damn it if his shit lungs and heart stop him from this. If he’s gonna die because he’s helplessly in love with Mick, he deserves this.

He also firmly ignores the confession (even if it’s to himself only) and the sharp stings in his lungs. He breathes through it and focuses on the warmth radiating from Mick.

 

  * ●●●●



 

Three days later, Mick comes home with a tall brunette. They’re both in a good mood, Mick slightly tipsy (it takes a lot to get Mick drunk, Len knows from personal experience) and the girl bordering on drunk. Mick puts his hands around her waist and she’s giggling all the way to his bedroom.

Len, unnoticed, sets the empty glass water gently into the sink and slinks soundlessly into the bathroom. When the door is firmly closed and the shower turned on, he starts coughing, his insides burning something fierce. He gets very dizzy for a terrifying moment, _feels_ something tear inside him and repositions above the toilet just in time to cough out a few fingernail- sized tissue pieces. _Alveoli_ , he thinks. The realization is enough to stop his coughing fit, for now.

And really, now that he sees them up close, he can see where the flower petals myth came from. They’re thin, just like petals and pale pink, splattered with blood. He supposes they’re kind of beautiful, in different circumstances, but they’re supposed to be _inside_ him and not make him die, so he crumbles them in his fist, throws them in the toilet and flushes.


	3. 2. Sleepless Nights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, this is going to be more than 3 chapters. Maybe like 5?   
> Again, there's not a lot of Mick/Len interaction in this one, but I'm working towards it.   
> Also, would you guys like if I wrote a chapter from Mick's POV?   
> Let me know and enjoy! :)

Len can’t fall asleep that night. It feels like there are spiders in his lungs, in his throat, and without the sensation of them crawling through his windpipe, the image alone is enough to keep him up until early hours of the morning. When he does finally fall asleep, it’s only for miserable 3 hours. He shoots awake gasping and with the smell of lilies stuck in his nose.

Disturbed and tired, he stumbles into the kitchen- and promptly freezes- _if he didn’t feel so crappy, he’d smirk_ \- on spot.

The tall brunette from last night is puttering around their kitchen and her eyes meet Len’s just as she’s about to take a sip from a white coffee cup in her hand.

She aborts the motion, discarding the cup on the counter to wipe her hands on her shirt and grin at him in a way that shouldn’t be possible this early in the morning. She’s a morning person, then. _Just like Mick_ , little voice in the back of his head adds.

“Oh, hi! I hope I didn’t wake you up, Mick said I can make myself coffee if I want. I’m Dinah.” She says and, before Len can process it, presses a hot cup of steaming coffee in his hand. The smell of it banishes the one of lilies and he immediately feels better.

Dinah’s wearing a grey, tight t-shirt and only her pink underwear that says ‘ _kiss me_ ’ on the front. It’s kind of ridiculous, especially when Len sees she’s also wearing grey and yellow striped socks and likes her despite everything because Mick’s parading around the house in similar edition all the time. Well, minus pink underwear. That would be hilarious.

“Len. And don’t worry, you didn’t. Uh, thanks.” He responds, taking a gulp of well-needed caffeine. “Speaking of Mick, where is he?”

“Oh,” she tucks a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, “he’s taking a shower.”

Len nods and they lapse into silence, devouring the coffee and watching TV through the doorway until Dinah comments something about Trump’s hair that startles a laugh out of Len. _Hey, if there’s one thing people can bond over, it’s trashing anything and everything Donald Trump_.

She’s looking at him with evaluating eyes when he stops laughing. “You know,” she starts, “you should laugh more. Makes you look more alive.”

Len wants to snort at that, but opts for a chuckle. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

  * ●●●●



 

He really thought that sleep was going to be the biggest problem from then on, but he comes home two days later from the grocery store- and finds Dinah watching TV in their living room. Which is wrong, wrong, _wrong_. Mick doesn’t bring the same girl back twice, it’s the whole point of _one- night_ stands.

_Unless_ \- Len greets her in passing, enters the kitchen and presses his hand against his aching sternum- _he really likes her_.

_Why wouldn’t he?_ Len thinks, putting milk in the fridge and focusing on his breathing, _they’re both morning types and like to walk around in their underwear._

He wonders briefly if Lisa would like her ( _probably_ ). She seems like a level-headed person. Responsible. _Someone who could help them with grieving_.

He coughs, the image of the three of them in front of TV flashing behind his eyes.

A hand on his shoulder startles him and he turns to find Dinah looking at him in concern.

“Are you okay?” She asks, passing him a glass of water.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks.” He responds. Water is so blessedly cold that he gulps it down in one go.

She looks at him in doubt. “That didn’t sound like you’re fine,” she comments.

Len wrinkles his nose. If Mick really likes her, he can’t be a rude asshole he usually is to her. “Just having some breathing problems. Happens a lot lately.” He says.

She hums. “Try sleeping with an open window, fresh air might help.”

Len doesn’t know how to respond- _Lady, I’ve got trouble sleeping as it is_ \- but in the end doesn’t have to because Dinah smiles at him briefly and goes back to the living room.

Later, when she and Mick had retreated to his room, he leaves the window in his room wide open and throws himself face-first on his bed.

  * ●●●●



The open window doesn’t help. All it does is taunt Len’s lungs with a promise of fresh, clean oxygen and make Len crawl underneath the sheets when it turns a bit chilly. Again, he passes out around four a.m. and wakes up at six, dizzy, disoriented and just as tired as yesterday.

Though, today, it’s Mick that waits for him in the kitchen, Henley, sweatpants, and socks on his feet. He shoves a cup of coffee in Len’s palm and curls his fingers around it, knowing better than to trust Len’s grip on anything when he looks like a zombie. It’s familiar and Len missed it so much it’s embarrassing. His chest aches- _it’s a constant ache, now_ \- with this crazy urge to reach out for Mick, bury his face in Mick’s neck and just _stay_ there.

He swallows around the lump in his throat. “Hi. Where’s Dinah?”

“Had to go.” Mick shrugs.

They eat their breakfast in silence, then drink some more coffee in front of TV before Lisa calls Mick to go pick her up at her dorm. She has a thing about public transportation. She might have gotten it from Len.

The three of them have lunch together and Lisa is in a good mood. She and Mick start bringing up all embarrassing stories they can remember about each other until Lisa eventually just moves to her favorite memories. Len huddles in corner of the couch, blinking tiredly and listening to the two of them, breathing shallow and fingertips tingling.

“-and, oh, the one where you told me about the coffee thing.” Lisa starts and Len shoots Mick a narrow-eyed look, suspecting this one somehow involves him. Mick shrugs, but he’s grinning in pleased amusement.

“Oh, yeah. I remember that.”

Well, Len doesn’t.

Lisa snorts, “Of course you do. You were so damn proud of yourself.” She says. “Anyway, that was that year when you drove me to and from school every day. And there were always two to- go cups of coffee in the car in the morning, but you drank from just one and wouldn’t let me drink from the other-“

“You were like 13, Lisa.” Mick interrupts.

Lisa waves him off, “Anyway, I think it was like three weeks of school left when I asked you why don’t you just give Len his when you’re picking me up at our house. And you said you want to see the look on Len’s face when caffeine starts working and he realizes he’s not in his bed anymore.” She finishes with a chuckle.

Okay, in Len’s defense, his late teens/early twenties were a period when caffeine still didn’t have a permanent residence in his bloodstream.

Mick joins in on her laughter, cracking up himself. “Don’t you remember how he used to stumble around in the mornings? Just bumping into walls and furniture?” He asks through chuckles. “That was so fucking precious.” He ends, throwing a fond look at Len.

The thing is, Len knows Mick cares. He wouldn’t stick around and deal with Len if he didn’t. But looks like this can so easily be interpreted as something that isn’t simply friendly fondness- and that’s killing Len. Quite literally.

The iron bands around his lungs tighten and he starts coughing, desperately seeking air.

He gives Mick a finger ( _he’s got to keep up a sense of normalcy_ ) and slips off into the bathroom, locking the door and coughing up blood and alveoli.

  * ●●●●



He’s staring at the ceiling in his room when there’s a knock and a quiet, “Lenny?” before the door opens just enough so Lisa can peek inside.

Len blinks at her. “Hey, Lise. Everything okay?”

She doesn’t respond, instead enters his room, closes the door and slinks to the edge of his bed. She’s tugging at the sleeve of her sleeping shirt, one of Len’s old, washed into softness shirts.

“Can I lay next to you?” She asks.

Len is worried, not because of bed sharing- they’ve done plenty of that when they were younger, especially when Lisa was a little kid and even sleeping six feet away from Len was terrifying because “he can’t get any of us if we’re together”. Len is worried because now Lisa is looking at him like she used to when Len would come in their room after another beating from Lewis.

“Yeah, sure.” He scoots a bit, making a space for her, but she- as expected- glues herself to his side, her head on his shoulder.

They take a moment to settle comfortably and then Lisa asks, in tiniest voice Len heard in years, “Are you going to be okay?”

_His heart? Yeah, it just broke into million pieces_.

He stares at the ceiling unblinkingly, eyes and insides burning.

“Yeah. Why are you asking?”

“Cause you look like crap lately and Mick told me you have problems with your lungs,” Lisa responds.

“You’re worried because of that coughing fit? It’s nothing, Lise.” He reassures her, petting her hair lightly. That always helped calm her down.

“You were in there for 10 minutes, Len. We were this close to calling an ambulance.” Lisa says and he knows she’s frowning.

“It’s going to be fine, Lisa. I promise.”

_Goddamn it_. Damn his lungs and damn this disease.


	4. 3. Sweet Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Len has a panic attack in this chapter, so if anyone is bothered by that there's a short summary of the chapter at the end.  
> Also, I never had a panic attack myself, so it probably isn't 100% or even 50% accurate.  
> Comments are always welcome and enjoy!

Mick is laying down next to him, eyes closed and expression peaceful in a way Len sees rarely. It’s making him seem almost unreal. In fact, it’s making everything seem unreal; like the colors are brighter and air lighter. Len feels like he has infinity to just lay here next to Mick.

“What are you doing?”

He brings his hand to Mick’s cheek, waits until his eyes open, then grins. “The clocks had stopped.” He says, casting a quick glance at the clock on the wall, hands on it frozen.

Mick grins as well, pulls him in with a hand on his neck and plants a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Then the other. Then his right cheek, eyelids, the tip of his nose.

“The clocks had stopped, you say?” He asks lightly, his lips twitching into another grin.

Len loves it when he’s like this; unburdened and happy. That’s the man he fell in love with.

“Yeah,” he whispers between more playful kisses. They have time. _They have everything_.

Mick hums, pulls him yet closer. He takes a moment to run his fingers over Len’s cheekbone, fingertips lightly following the line of his jaw and curve of his neck until they’re dipping into a valley of his collarbone. Then he leans his forehead against Len’s, preparing like he’s about to whisper him a secret.

“I’ve got something for you.” He says quietly.

Len raises one eyebrow, a strange nagging feeling in the back of his mind.

Pulling back, Mick presents him with one of his hands, curled in a loose fist. He turns the palm upwards, then uncurls it.

Breath catches in Len’s throat, his eyes glued to a handful of small, pink petals in Mick’s hand. He turns his wide eyes to Mick, but suddenly he can’t see him, black spots dancing in his vision and air hard to draw in his lungs. He can’t breathe and he can’t see Mick. Where did Mick go? Where-

“ _This is yours_.”

Len jerks awake with terror crawling up his spine, iron bands around his lungs not relenting their grip. He heaves, then chokes, then starts coughing until he can’t feel anything but the burning in his chest, like claws raking over the walls of his insides.

In a rush of panic, he thinks, _fuck Dr. Bonham and her two months estimation, he’s gonna die in his damn bed like a ninety years old man_.

Not if he has a say in it, he won’t.

He rushes to the bathroom, barely having the common sense to lock the door before he’s alternating between coughing, hacking up his lungs and dry heaving.

The dream is still playing in his head, kissing and petals and Mick. And Mick. And Mick. And _MickMickMick_. And- he’s, he’s working himself into a panic attack now. He flushes the toilet on autopilot and sinks down on cold tiles, his legs hugged tight to his chest and his face pushed into his knees.

He vaguely aware of the doorknob jiggling, a distant voice swearing, but he can’t worry about that now. He can’t breathe and his heart is beating too fast, pounding in his temples and fingertips and _where is Mick_ -

Mick is yelling, barely audible above the roaring in his ears and Len takes a few choked- off breathes, scrambling to unlock the door. It immediately swings open, forcing Len to return into his original position against the bathtub, huddled in on himself. Then Mick’s there- _the idiot almost brained himself on the sink when his socked feet slipped on the tiles_ -, on his knees and asking Len to _count my fingers, Len_. He makes one of Len’s hands to take a hold of his wrist and holds his palm open so Len can touch each finger individually.

_Okay, okay_ , he can do this. _Fuck_.

He touches Mick’s pinky- _one, inhale_ \- then his ring finger- _two, exhale_ -

“Out loud, Lenny. C’mon, you know the drill.”

_Right, right, from the start_.

“One.” _Inhale_.

“Two.” _Exhale_.

“Three.” _Inhale_.

“Four.” _Exhale_.

“Five.” _Inhale_. His index finger touches Mick’s thumb, then Mick’s taking a hold of his hand and exhaling with him.

“Again?” He asks after a second of silence.

Len shakes his head, body going limp with exhaustion and leans into Mick. _He knows that Mick knows_ that he won’t want to talk about it. At least not for another few days.

Mick pulls him in a light embrace, one of his hands running soothingly over Len’s back while the other still holds his hand and they will pretend like nothing happened tomorrow and Len is again overwhelmed by how much he loves Mick. Fuck, he literally can’t breathe from it-

“Don’t you fucking dare have another panic attack. _I’m_ still not over this one.” Mick warns, but his voice quivers a little- Len had to listen for it to catch it.

He huffs against Mick’s chest. “I think one per night is enough, don’t worry.”

Len knows after- panic attack drill as well, so he lets Mick trail after him back into his room. He throws himself back on the bed, watching curiously as Mick rummages through his bedside drawer.

Finally, he straightens, sets Len’s not- inhaler on the nightstand and lays in the bed as well.

“You know,” he starts thoughtfully as he looks at not- inhaler, “I was 50% sure you were bullshiting me when you said you got an inhaler.”

Len snorts and buries his face in the pillow, his ribs aching.

 

  * ●●●●



 

Dinah is over again and Len listens ( _actually tries not to listen_ ) to the two of them fighting in the kitchen. At least he thinks they’re fighting. He can immediately recognize Mick’s ‘ _I’m trying to be quiet_ ’ rumble and can just distinguish Dinah’s softer murmur. He can’t tell what they’re saying, but Mick doesn’t sound happy.

He squishes the tiny bud of hope that their relationship is not as serious as he originally thought, tells himself that Dinah is good for Mick and coughs into his fist.

There’s a brief moment of silence and then Mick storming out, door slamming shut behind him. Len just sits there for a moment, hears a heavy sigh and then Dinah is walking past him, giving him a sad smile in passing and leaving as well. The door closes quietly after her and he blinks at them, wondering what the hell was that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Len has a dream in which all clocks had stopped and Mick presents him with a handful of flower petals. He wakes up, has a coughing fit and a panic attack in the bathroom and Mick helps him to calm down. Later, Len can hear Mick fighting with Dinah- hopes they stop dating, but tells himself that Dinah is good for Mick- and coughs. After that Mick leaves the house angry and Dinah smiles sadly at him before she leaves as well.


	5. 4.	Say Goodbye To Your Earthly Possessions

Mick doesn’t return home that night. Len stays up watching some weird- ass night program just to pass out at- now usual- four a.m. and wake up at six.

He sets water for coffee to boil and goes to take a quick shower before drinking about half a pot by himself. He’s so tired that it almost doesn’t help at all. Hell, he doesn’t even hear Mick entering the house.

“Who is it?” He whips to stare at Mick- who looks like he didn’t have any sleep tonight- standing at the doorway to the kitchen.

He sets his cup in the sink. “What?”

Mick swallows thickly. His eyes are bloodshot, dead and dull and focused somewhere above Len’s left shoulder.

“You’re dying. Because of who?” He asks and Len can feel the color drain from his face, his hands clammy. He can’t… _There’s no way for him to know_.

“What are you talking about?” He tries to play it off as casual, confused, _anything_ that isn’t scared, but it falls flat.

Suddenly, Mick’s eyes focus on his, all their sudden intensity almost making him flinch.

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Len,” he grits out, “don’t you dare lie to me about this.”

Len swallows. He can’t say it.

“How do you know?”

Mick huffs, “Checked your calls to see who’s your doctor and broke in the hospital,” he shrugs.

 _Of course_.

Len sighs, looks at the ground as silence stretches.

“Len. Who is it?” Mick repeats, low, but angry. _He sounds jealous_ , Len’s traitorous heart says.

“Doesn’t matter.” He wheezes. 

Mick’s eyes flash, “It sure as hell matters! You’re dying because of ‘em!”

“Mick, drop it.” Len is scared and tired and, and- _and he’s not angry_. Fuck, he doesn’t have any more energy for it. He just wants to reach out to Mick, that’s all. He was never big on touching, something that comes with a lifetime of child abuse, but he’d lie to himself if he said he doesn’t want Mick’s touch. _Hell_ , he’d settle for _hand- holding_.

But he can’t do that. He can’t because then all of his walls would come down and _Mick would know_. He would know who it is. And he’s already carrying too much guilt that isn’t his to carry. Len can see it sometimes, when he’s in a bad mood and staring at the fire or when they’re in bed and he’s tracing the scars on Len’s skin. Len can’t do this to him. It’s not possible _to make_ people feel things, it’s not how it works, but Mick would still blame himself because he couldn’t make himself love Len like Len loves him.

 _But he who dares not grasp the thorn should never crave the rose_ , he thinks wryly, then wonders when he reached the point of reciting poetry. A while ago, he supposes. Although the quote is suitable; if he didn’t have the strength to go through all this, he shouldn’t have fallen in love with Mick in the first place. The thought sounds ridiculous as soon as he thinks it. Lewis might have raised him in the eyes of the law, but in reality, Mick and he raised each other. Somewhere along the line from that first day in juvie to the last, they became irreversibly tangled up in each other. Len built his life around Mick and, really, this was just a natural course of action. Unavoidable.

The worst thing, though? Len doesn’t regret it in the slightest.

  * ●●●●



Mick doesn’t drop it. The next few days are spent in brooding silence, arguing and a lot of coughing on Len’s part. Dinah doesn’t come over again either.

Lisa visits during the weekend, briefly. She gives each of them an assessing look, stays for lunch and then leaves. She always had a weird way of knowing exactly when they’re fighting, even though they didn’t really try to hide it this time. Len is just grateful that Mick didn’t tell her. Mick knowing is hard enough and if Lisa knew… Len would end his own miseries. Because, yes, he’s a coward that can’t deal with emotions.

He snorts to himself.

Emotions are what got him in this mess in the first place. Lewis always told him feelings are a weakness and look at him now. Looks like there’s one thing his father was right about; _your soft heart’s gonna run you into a grave one of these days, Leonard_. He’d get a real kick out of this.

He splashes some water in his face, looks at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes are red, with deep purple smudges underneath, like someone swiped their thumbs over skin there. His cheeks are hollow, freckles on his nose and cheekbones stark against his ashen skin. He always looks closer to death after one of his coughing fits.

He shoves a hand under his shirt, rests it over his chest.

Mick is standing in the doorway, looking at him with an unreadable expression. Their eyes meet in the mirror and Len is preparing himself for another argument, his back tensing, but what comes out of Mick's mouth is not the usual question.

He deflates, all fight going out of him and now he just looks tired. “Can I tell you something?” He asks.

Surprised by the switch in his behavior, Len nods mutely. He watches as Mick enters the bathroom, leaving the door slightly ajar (his silent “ _you can leave whenever you want_ ”) and sits on the edge of the tub.

“You know, I used to have a crush on you.”

Len chokes, his hands having a white-knuckled grip on the sink behind his back. He knows what this is. A trade. Mick is doing a trade with him. One secret for another and Len glances at the door, desperately trying to forget that sentence.

 _Used to_. The universe is surely having a laugh over this. Sure, break Len’s heart and then stomp on it for good measure. Who cares.

“Len.” Mick calls. “Who is it?”

 _It’s you. It’s always been you. I love you so much it’s killing me_.

God, a rusty blade in the gut would hurt less.

“I’m sorry,” he hears himself say hoarsely, “I can’t tell you.”

Mick simply nods once, stands up and without a glance and leaves. Len feels something between them snap and coughs until blood and alveoli granules are all he can taste.


	6. 5. What It All Comes Down To

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so, I've never published or really written smut before and I don't know exactly how awful I am at it- and with that in mind, I wrote about 1000 words of smut with a smidge of clumsy confession at the end. 
> 
> Following that- and as this is the last chapter before the epilogue- I was seriously tempted to title this chapter as 'Climax', but decided it is bad enough that I'm making you read it. I'm not 100% sure it's good, but it's best I can do for now.
> 
> Anyway, I hope this doesn't suck too much.

Mick is gone for two days. Len feels- he feels like ground just caved under his feet. He might be dying from love, but the distance is what’s killing him.

On the third day, Len comes back from the store and finds him sitting on the couch and drinking beer.

He stops for a second, making sure it’s really Mick ( _yesterday he saw him in the kitchen and made a mistake of looking away_ ). Then he shoves the groceries in the fridge and returns to the living room with his heart beating in his throat.

His fingers wrap around Mick’s wrist and he pulls him to his feet. He doesn’t know what he’s doing ( _he doesn’t know anything lately_ ), so he kisses him, forceful and biting and desperate. He found out it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if Mick makes him coffee in the morning or if he brings home a girl for a night or if they fight until they’re red in faces. _It doesn’t matter_. Whatever Mick does, however he makes him feel, it’s gonna kill Len a little bit more. He’s doomed either way.

Mick breaks the kiss with his hands on Len’s cheeks.

“What?” Len snaps.

Mick is looking at him strangely. He even suspects, _for one terrifying moment_ , that Mick figured it out. But then, “Nothing. Thought you wanted to _catch your breath_.” He jabs at him.

“Shut up.” Len snaps again, brings their mouths together once more. There are claws and teeth scraping over his insides, a knife twisted in his gut. It’s a carnage, so he kisses Mick harder and focuses on his hands on his waist.

Mick catches up quickly, matches him kiss for a kiss with his own intensity. His lungs are burning when Mick drags his hands over his sides, touch light. It’s one of the most surprising things about Mick; sure, he can be rough, but he has moments, like this, when his touch is feather light. Not what Len needs right now, unfortunately.

He digs his fingers in Mick’s biceps, nudging him in the direction he wants him to go. Mick mutters something in his mouth, his hands skimming over Len’s hips and digging in the back of his thighs. He gives one weak pull of warning before he’s lifting Len up. He knows the wall is coming before they’re even moving. Mick traps him there, between himself and the wall, allowing Len to settle his grip on his waist while his hands on Len’s thighs promise to take him apart. That’s funny because Len hadn’t felt this whole since this whole mess started.

“This is what you want?” Mick asks into a kiss, immediately nipping at his bottom lip.

And, _yes_ , _this is_ what Len wants. There’s a sharp, stabbing pain in his back, but deeper, beneath the skin and flesh and bone. It reaches all the way to his core. “Yes,” he says instead of focusing on it, wrapping his arms around Mick’s neck to bring him back in for another kiss.

He doesn’t know when they got to the bedroom, but they’re shedding their clothes as Mick lowers them both on the bed, his body blanketing Len’s and firing up every point where they’re touching. His hips fit between Len’s thighs like he was always supposed to be there, a thought that makes Len’s chest hurt even more than before.

They’re both naked by now and they don’t talk when they get like this; desperate and needy. Len is desperate for Mick and Mick is matching him in it without knowing it.

Mick cuts the contact briefly to grab lube and condoms from a drawer, but then he’s back, on his knees between Len’s legs. He preps him quickly, without finesse, but careful not to hurt him all the same. From then on, though, it’s all about long, hard thrusts and biting kisses. But even in his frenzy, Mick’s touch never turns bruising, just holding him close. Mick’s chasing pleasure while Len’s chasing the light at the end of the tunnel, his lungs twisting and ripping and catching fire, but, God, who needs air when they are this completely and utterly lost in everything they love?

“Mick,” his voice is shot to hell, the name coming out as a whimper.

Len’s a slaughterhouse on the inside, and Mick’s in the middle of it, but all the blood is Len’s. And that’s fine. That’s what this all comes down to, isn’t it?

“Mick,” a prayer this time, barely audible and both of them is shaking.

Mick slides one of his arms under Len’s back, sneaking it up along his spine, past his shoulder blades until he’s cupping the back of Len’s head.

“Goddamn you, Len,” he chokes out, slants his lips over Len’s with force.

It’s definitely not their first kiss and they had their share of toe-curling kisses, but this is- _fuck_ , it doesn’t compare to this. Len will credit his thoughts on lack of oxygen, but this feels like the universe is splitting open. And if he was feeling like driving a blade through his heart, he’d say it feels like love.

He’s tipping over the edge, breathless and trembling, his fingers digging into Mick’s back and his face shoved in the crook of his neck. He gets lost there, for seconds, for minutes, for hours. He doesn’t know. Time doesn’t exist there.

He is just faintly aware of Mick petting him and soothing him with wordless praises until he can get his own breathing under control and start talking. Len is still trembling when he does, until he hears it.

“-love you, do you? You have no idea.”

He coughs, “What did you just say?” and Mick’s hand stills where it was soothingly rubbing Len’s flank. Len tips his head to the side, so he can see Mick’s face, his eyes round, uncertain and scared.

“Mick, repeat it.” He asks desperately, torn inside.

Mick shifts so he’s facing him fully. Len waits quietly as his eyes run over his face, slowly becoming less scared and more determined. He swallows, clears his throat.

“I love you,” he says with a wet chuckle, “I said I love you.”

And Len gasps, a rush of cool air bringing tears to his eyes. He lets out a sob and pulls Mick in for a kiss. It’s not even a kiss, just their faces smushed together clumsily. And, holy fuck.

Mick is trying to pull back, but Len is not done. He’s just clinging to Mick by this point, shaking and gasping and-

“ _Are you laughing_?”

“It’s you,” he blurts out, wonders if it’s possible to get high on oxygen, “Mick, it’s you.”

Mick, _beautiful, wonderful Mick_ says, “I know.”

_What?_

Len lets him go now, though all Mick does is sit up, Len’s legs still bracketing him. Len lifts up on his elbows.

“What? You- you’ve known? All this time?” He asks, sounding more hurt than he intended.

Mick looks at him surprised, “What? No, you jackass! I figured it out in the living room.”

“Oh.” Len breathes out, feeling silly.

They’re silent after that. Len thinks he’s in shock again. Or that Mick’s in shock. _Or maybe they’re both in shock, who knows_. Len breathes in, not realizing how much he actually missed the air until now and watches Mick.

Mick who is staring at Len’s shoulder, but his eyes are unfocused. Len can practically see the wheels turning and grinding in his head, processing all this. Then, his gaze snaps, focusing on Len again and _uh, Len knows that look_.

“You bastard,” Mick says, eyes wide- he’s livid and Len braces himself, fully prepared for the punch that’s undoubtedly coming. What he wasn’t prepared for was a pillow smacking him in the face.

He splutters, blinking in surprise as Mick explodes.

“You fucker-“

“ _I think that’s actually you in this situation_.”

“- are you fucking kidding me?! What the hell were you thinking?! You almost- you were gonna _die_!”

“I’m sorry.” Len says quietly, knowing to let Mick get it all out before laying out his arguments.

“You better fucking be! I can’t believe you! Jesus fucking Christ, Len.” He shakes his head, tipping it upwards.

“Who am I kidding? _Of course_ you’d rather die than talk about feelings. This is absolutely something you’d do.”

“Hey!”

“Don’t ‘Hey!’ me, you know it’s true.”

It is.

“I’m sorry,” he says again once it looks like Mick is done, his head bowed. He prepares to explain himself, but he’s suddenly at loss. Why hadn’t he said anything? _Besides his allergy to feelings_. Now that his head is clear and death’s not dangling in front of his nose- _Len’s an idiot_.

“I’m an idiot.”

“ _The_ idiot, Lenny.” Mick corrects him, but his voice is softer. _Fond_.

Len risks a peek through his eyelashes.

“I can’t believe you actually smacked me with a pillow.”

“Go wheeze about it.” Mick shoots back.

_Well, that was just uncalled for_.

But Len just sits up, arms reaching for Mick even as he's already leaning in for another kiss.


	7. 6. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, things you need to know. This is the epilogue. It's in Mick's POV. It's basically a recap of this whole fanfic but from Mick's perspective. You wouldn't believe how long it took to write it. It is three times longer than my usual chapters. It is 12 pages long in Word document. You've been warned and I hope you guys like it. Comment and let me know! :)

Len and Mick have an agreement. It works as well as casual sex with your best friend can go. Actually, it works great because Len doesn’t do hookups (and there’s only so much right-hand action a man should endure) and Mick isn’t always in a mood to go pick someone up at a bar. It works great- and then it stops being only casual for Mick.

But there’s not exactly anything Mick can do about it. Len might trust him with Lisa and himself and they sure as hell know each other better than anyone else, but it doesn’t mean that Len feels the same way. Either way, if Len by any chance feels the same, he’ll have to be the one to make the first move. Len likes his boundaries and Mick is going to be damned if he starts pushing them before Len’s ready. He already has more than he ever hoped for, anyway, and he’s more than happy with anything Len is willing to give to him.

  * ●●●●



He leads Kat to the front door, which is not the usual procedure. Usually, they take back door because Len has a habit of eating his breakfast in front of the TV and those encounters just create a whole bunch of questions Mick has no desire in answering while driving. _Is he your roommate? He’s cute, how old is he? Are you two dating?_

_Would you be interested in a three-way?_

But Len had some health issues in past few weeks- heavy breathing, dizziness- and, call Mick a mother hen, but he just wants to make sure Len’s not passed out on the carpet.

And fine, Len’s sitting in front of the TV, as expected, and drinking coffee. He’s already done with breakfast and his first cup of coffee, so Mick has no doubts this one has about five sugar cubes in it.

Then he starts coughing, _really coughing_ and Mick stops to wait it out.

“You alright?” He asks when it finally subdues.

Len, always guarded, waves him off and spouts some lie about choking on his coffee. Not talking about it then, even if Mick can see he’s slightly freaked out.

Mick leaves him be and drives Kat home.

  * ●●●●



When he comes back, Len is nowhere to be found and there’s a sticky note on the fridge informing him that ‘we’re out of milk’ and that Len ‘went to see a doctor’. So he goes out, buys milk and stocks up on other things they’re running low on and when Len’s still not back, he goes to Lisa’s. He cooks her dinner and lunch for the next day, surfs channels while she’s out (probably studying in the library or whatever college kids do) and then goes home.

He doesn’t realize how anxious he was until he finds Len draped over the couch. He nudges his feet so he can sit down and takes in the containers of Chinese food. Looks like Lisa was over. She’s gonna go nuts when she comes home and finds homemade food in her fridge if takeout was all she was eating lately.

“What was that in the morning?” He asks, grabbing a random container.

“What?” Len plays clueless.

“Coughing. Don’t think I didn’t notice you had trouble breathing lately. So what’s up?”

Len tries to shrug, though it’s awkward in a weirdly elegant way that only Len can accomplish. “Nothing, everything’s fine.” He says, then adds, “My lungs are a bit fucked- up is all, but I’m gonna be fine.”

Mick hums in response, but- “You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“You got something for it?” He asks. If Len got pills, he’s gonna try to get out of taking them. He absolutely despises the things.

“Inhaler.” Len responds, then focuses on TV, ending the conversation.

Mick hums again, drops it because if Len doesn’t want to talk about something, it’s not happening. He can’t help glancing at him every now and then, though Len’s thoughts are somewhere else and Mick would be surprised if he even noticed.

  * ●●●●



They’re in a middle of a heated make-out session, almost grinding into the couch, when Len breaks the kiss with a gasp. Mick instantly stills, not wanting to move in case he accidentally somehow hurt Len or if his “fucked- up lungs”- Len’s words, not his- are acting up.

“What’s wrong?”

Len doesn’t respond immediately. In fact, he has closed his eyes, his fingers digging into Mick’s shoulders. Then he looks at Mick, just for a split second before answering, “Just needed to take some air.”

And then he’s back at kissing Mick with new determination, pulling him in like his life depends on it.

  * ●●●●



Len was acting cranky the whole day, lost in his own head and Mick, having learned his lesson early in their friendship, gives him some space. And goes to a bar.

He hasn’t planned on hooking up with anyone tonight- wasn’t in the mood since it was confirmed that Len is sick- but then a girl takes a seat next to him, asks for a ‘ _double scotch, clean_ ’, drinks it in a gulp without flinching, orders another and turns to him with a grin and, “Hi, I’m Dinah.”

And hey _, why not?_

Dinah is pretty soft-spoken, but surprisingly fierce in bed.

“Huh,” she says when they’re laying down in his bed, “who’d thought a bad day at work would turn into this?”

Mick hums in agreement.

“Where do you work?” It’s a question people usually ask before sleeping with someone, but whatever.

“Hospital downtown.” She says- and it’s a ‘light bulb turns on above his head’ moment.

“Oh. You’re a nurse?”

“Uh- huh.” She confirms.

He mulls his idea over. If Dinah works as a nurse, then she could potentially figure out how sick Len really is. Mick knows that Len told him he’s gonna be fine, but Len’s also a bit of a compulsive liar- and a good one too.

“Why do you ask?” Dinah questions, eyeing him suspiciously. She’s insightful too. Good, nobody gets far when they’re underestimating Len.

“I’m not giving you free drugs.”

“What? No, I don’t need drugs.” Mick shakes his head. “I wanted to ask for a favor, though.”

Dinah is still suspicious, but at least she’s not defensive anymore. “What kind of favor?”

Welp, here it goes.

“My friend is sick, but I don’t know how bad it is. He won’t really talk about it and I thought that maybe you could figure out what’s up with him.” He says.

As he was talking, Dinah’s eyes softened. “I suppose I could try. But what did you have in mind, exactly?”

“He lives here, so… I don’t know, I guess you can come over when you have time. Don’t ask questions, though, he’s gonna get suspicious.” He responds.

Dinah thinks it over, hiking the sheets higher over her chest, then nods.

“Okay, I’ll see what I can do.”

  * ●●●●



Dinah starts coming over for a few hours whenever she doesn’t have a shift at the hospital. Three days after their first meeting and their agreement, though, she confirms that there’s definitely something wrong with Len’s lungs. Although that’s more specific than he got from Len, it doesn’t make him feel better.

She’s got to work an early shift the next day, so Mick’s alone when Len drags himself to the kitchen. He looks like he barely got a blink of sleep, hardly aware of anything and Mick watches him gracefully avoid tangling his foot in a chair leg for a hair. He presses a cup of black coffee (nothing else is going to wake him up) in his hand. He wraps his fingers around it too, because no matter how dexterous his hands are, there are few clumsy morning handjobs to testify that they, too, are asleep before Len’s got some caffeine in him.

They’re alone, so Mick takes few rare moments before Len’s completely aware of his surroundings to take a good look at him. He’s usually pretty light- tanned- one thing he got from his father while all of his other features are inherited from his mother- but now he’s a bit more pale, enough that Mick can see his freckles from where he sits. He takes in the way his dark eyelashes fan over his cheeks because he’s blinking sleepily while waiting for coffee to kick in. He’s softer around the edges too, it’s almost unnoticeable, but Mick knows what to look for.

But soon he’s back to his usual self and they mostly sprawl over the couch and watch… whatever that is on TV until Lisa calls him to drive her over.

She throws her bag in the backseat and directs him to her favorite burger joint (her and Len’s eating habits are gonna give him an aneurysm one day). They eat it at their place and Lisa is cheery enough that her good mood infects both of them. Len is curled up in the corner of the couch, apparently sleepy again, but his lips are turned up at the corners a little while he listens to Lisa who is animatedly speaking with a glint in her eye.

“That’s one of my favorites and, oh, the one where you told me about the coffee thing.” Lisa starts again and Len shoots Mick a narrow-eyed look.

Mick shrugs because that memory always makes him smile. “Oh, yeah. I remember that.”

Lisa snorts, “Of course you do. You were so damn proud of yourself.” She says. “Anyway, that was that year when you drove me to and from school every day. And there were always two to- go cups of coffee in the car in the morning, but you drank from just one and wouldn’t let me drink from the other-“

“You were like 13, Lisa.” Mick interrupts. His mom never let him drink coffee when he was a kid and he wasn’t going to do it either.

Lisa waves him off, “Anyway, I think it was like three weeks of school left when I asked you why don’t you just give Len his when you’re picking me up at our house. And you said you want to see the look on Len’s face when caffeine starts working and he realizes he’s not in his bed anymore.” She finishes with a chuckle.

Mick joins in on her laughter, cracking up himself because those mornings were the highlight of his days back then. “Don’t you remember how he used to stumble around in the mornings? Just bumping into walls and furniture?” He asks through chuckles. Sure, Len was pretty elegant and graceful (somehow) while doing even that, but still, “That was so fucking precious.” He ends, throwing a look at Len.

Len starts coughing again then and runs off ( _though it was more of a casual saunter_ ) to the bathroom. Not before giving Mick a finger, though.

Mick has gotten used to it- as well as getting woken up in the middle of the night because the water’s running in the bathroom. And although it still bothers him, he’s losing sleep over Len’s sickness too, Lisa gets really worried.

Apparently, Len hasn’t mentioned how sick he is to Lisa either. And he’s in there for almost ten minutes and when he finally gets out (Mick is actually dialing 911 as the door opens) he immediately retreats in his room.

Lisa decides to stay over, apologizing because Mick will have to drive her back extra early so she can change before her classes. But Mick honestly doesn’t mind; he would stay awake the whole night if it meant that Lisa will be able to get through to Len.

  * ●●●●



Lisa doesn’t look too happy when Mick drives her to her dorm the following morning. They’re both tense and quiet during the ride, but when Mick parks the car, Lisa turns to face him.

“He’s really sick, isn’t he?” She asks and Mick can see how scared she is just because her face is blank. It’s the same thing that Len does.

“Yeah.” He says because he can’t lie to either of them.

Lisa’s eyebrows pinch together lightly and she leans over to hug him. Mick isn’t really good at giving hugs ( _always too awkward_ ) but tries to give Lisa the comfort she needs as best as he can. Maybe he needs it as well.

  * ●●●●



Mick was giving Dinah time she needed to establish what could be wrong with Len. _She was narrowing it down_ , she said, which was all well and good.

And then Len has a panic attack.

Mick is awakened in the middle of the night, again, just this time it wasn’t water that woke him up. Coughing that is coming from the bathroom is awful, God, it sounds so painful, like Len’s coughing up a whole lung in there.

Mick is knocking, then pounding on the door, but he thinks that Len isn’t listening. Or maybe can’t hear him. Then the coughing subdues, but Mick is only more terrified because it sounds like Len can’t breathe at all, like he’s choking and Mick only starts hitting the door harder, yelling because _fuck, he’s not gonna die in the fucking bathroom._

He’s seconds away from kicking the door down- all be damned- when they fly open.

Mick almost kills himself on the tiles, slipping and barely catching himself on the sink before sinking on his knees in front of Len.

Len who is huddled, so small and shaking, against the bathtub.

“Len,” he starts, lightly touching Len’s forearm with his fingers, “count my fingers, Len.” He wraps one of Len’s hands around his wrist and holds his palm open so Len can touch each finger individually.

It’s something that helps because it doesn’t require too much touching (that only makes Len panic even more), but still gives him something to focus on.

He touches Mick’s pinky then his ring finger, but he’s still silent so Mick urges him, “Out loud, Lenny. C’mon, you know the drill.”

He starts over, this time counting out loud, even if his voice is barely above a whisper.

“One,” Mick watches him inhale, say, “Two,” then exhale and then repeat until he’s not gasping for air anymore.

 “Again?” Mick asks after a second of silence; sometimes Len wants to make sure he’s calm enough, but it seems he’s too tired now. He shakes his head, body going limp with exhaustion and leans into Mick.

He won’t want to talk about it so soon after it happened, so Mick pulls him in a light embrace, one of his hands running soothingly over Len’s back while the other still holds his hand. They’re quiet until Len’s breath starts catching again.

“Don’t you fucking dare have another panic attack. _I’m_ still not over this one.” Mick warns him, mainly because his own heart is hammering in his chest from fear.

Len huffs against his chest, mutters, “I think one per night is enough, don’t worry.”

He goes with Len to Len’s room, watches him throw himself on the bed, barely moving a muscle once his head hits the pillow. He goes through his drawers, finds his inhaler (he didn’t really believe Len actually got it) and sets it on the nightstand before laying down next to him.

 “You know,” he starts thoughtfully as he looks at inhaler, “I was 50% sure you were bullshiting me when you said you got an inhaler.”

Len snorts and buries his face in the pillow and then falls asleep.

Mick stays still for few moments, only long enough to ensure his moving won’t startle Len out of sleep. Then he sits up, drags a hand over his face because this was way too close for his liking. He gave Dinah time, but he can’t afford being denied crucial information when Len is this badly sick.

He turns on Len’s phone, goes through his recent phone calls and finds one Dr. Bonham, called that morning when he first started coughing.

Great, he has a doctor, now, he needs the alias.

He opens the drawer where Len’s inhaler was and finds a pharmacy receipt for one Mr. Adam Rothman.

 _Bingo_.

  * ●●●●



Dinah checks Len’s records for him in the hospital and-

“He’s got what?” He hisses.

“Hanahaki disease.” Dinah repeats and Mick would be okay if she didn’t look so _damn sad_.

Mick swallows. “Meaning?” He asks sharply and then tries to remind himself that it isn’t Dinah’s fault.

“It’s,” she stops, a pinched expression on her face, “it’s not good, Mick.”

He feels his stomach tying into knots. “Quit pussyfooting and tell me how bad it is.” He sounds angry- in truth, he’s scared as hell.

She sighs. “It’s a condition where alveoli, cells that make up our lungs, start dying. And that eventually starts killing the patient too.”

Mick ’s gonna throw up. He’s- _oh, God_.

“And the medicine? It’s treatable, right?” He knows he sounds hard and sharp, but desperately wants, _needs_ an affirmative on that one.

He can see by the expression on Dinah’s face that he’s not getting it. He wants to punch something.

“It’s not a physically caused sickness, so there’s no-“

“There’s no cure.” Mick finishes for her, internally cringes at his tone because _it’s not Dinah’s fault_. She gives him an understanding look, so he guesses she knows it’s him lashing out like an emotionally crippled asshole.

“What causes it, then?” He asks.

And, _fuck, this is going to hurt_ , he can feel it as soon as her eyes turn sad.

“Unrequited love.”

 _Fuck_. He was right, it hurts. It hurts so much he’s momentarily blinded by it and when he can see again, everything’s red.

“You really love him, don’t you?” Dinah asks quietly, hugging herself. She’s looking at him with sadness, but not because Mick’s in love with Len and not her. It’s because Mick’s in love with a dying man.

 _He’s my best friend. We’re partners. I’ve known him since he was too small and too stubborn for his own good. He’s Len_ , Mick wants to say, but it’s interrupted by a cough from a living room.

Everything fades for a moment; sound, visuals. Everything but Len’s angry, fearless eyes from that first day in juvie looking, _glaring_ up at him. Like he didn’t save punk’s life.

“Of course I do.” He snaps at least. He storms out, too angry to do anything that won’t fuck things up even more if he stays.

He drives around for the rest of the night, at first somehow finding himself in front of the cemetery and then, while he’s already parked, calls Lisa.

She doesn’t know if Len’s dating someone or even has a thing for someone, but Mick’s gonna find who the hell it is. He’s gonna get Len to tell him if it’s the last thing he does, so he can bash the fucker’s skull in for doing this to Len.

  * ●●●●



Len plays clueless when Mick confronts him next morning and, Jesus Christ, Mick is _this_ close to strangling him right there.

And of course Len won’t tell him who it is, ever so loyal even if it kills him, Goddamnit.

And Mick is, fuck, Mick is boiling from the inside the whole time. He’s furious. He understands that Len doesn’t have to love him if they’re sleeping together from time to time, it doesn’t even matter right now. Mick is a selfish bastard and he’s gonna take whatever Len can give him- but he can’t give him anything if he’s dead.

And this, this bastard that Len’s protecting is so fucking dumb not to see Len. Not really see him because Mick doubts that anyone could be indifferent to Len if they had a chance to know him how Mick knows him. They’d have no chance but to lose their fucking heads over him.

  * ●●●●



It’s been days and Mick’s past his point of combustion; the fire died and all that’s left is ashes. He’s empty, hollowed out and sleepless and desperate. And he just, _he can’t_ anymore.

He finds Len in the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror, pale and tired and getting ready for another argument. But Mick is tired too, and he has no energy to fight.

“Can I tell you something?” He asks instead.

Len only nods and watches as Mick enters the bathroom.

He leaves the door slightly ajar (he doesn’t want Len to feel like he’s cornered) and sits on the edge of the tub.

Mick didn’t think this through, but he just doesn’t know what else to do.

“You know, I used to have a crush on you.” He says.

_Yeah, that’s right. I had a crush on you and now I love you so much it scares me sometimes and I don’t know what I’d do if you die. Don’t die, please._

Len chokes, he’s probably uncomfortable now. But he knows what this is; one secret for another. _Old crush for a person responsible for your life._

No. Not person responsible for Len’s life. Mick was the one who always tended to every cut and bruise the bastard of his father left on him, the one who made sure he didn’t starve himself while planning the next heist. Mick was here first.

This is the person responsible for Len’s death.

 “Len.” Mick calls. “Who is it?”

 “I’m sorry,” Len says almost immediately, “I can’t tell you.”

Mick feels something leave his body. His will to live, he’d bet, because Len won’t tell him. He won’t let Mick in, not this time and _he’s gonna die_. And _fuck_ , but if Len dies, what the hell is Mick supposed to do? He’s scared to even think about it.

He just nods once, stands up on numb legs and leaves without looking back. If he did, he’s sure he’d break down right there and beg Len not to die.

  * ●●●●



He spends the next two days in one of their safe houses about six blocks away from their place. But then Lisa calls him and he thinks _no, not like this, this isn’t happening_ , but she only called to ask if you can reheat the potatoes.

Nevertheless, the sheer terror of those few seconds before he picked up is enough to send him scrambling and tripping over his own feet to get back to their house.

Len is not there, so he helps himself to a beer while he waits. He goes over the past week in his head, seeing things clearer and from a different angle now that he’s not seething with rage. And what he sees is, if Len is- well, it leaves him confused.

By the time Len returns from the store, Mick has a whole monologue prepared (well, it’s about ten sentences so it’s as close as it’ll get).

He doesn’t have a chance to say anything though, because Len is pulling him to his feet and kissing him and- motherfucker, it just leaves Mick even more confused.

He tries to slow down, wants to clear up this whole mess before he takes his pants off, but Len’s not having it.

And it, it somehow clicks at that moment. If Mick was half as dramatic as Len is, he’d say there was a heavenly choir singing in the background and a bright light to emphasize Mick’s epiphany. But he just… settles.

They’re getting rid of their clothes like it’s a skin they can shed, so they can rearrange their bones to get that much closer to each other.

He doesn’t think he ever felt more peaceful, more at home in his own bones than when Len is saying his name like it’s the only thing that matters.

Mick slides one of his arms under Len’s back, sneaking it up along his spine, past his shoulder blades until he’s cupping the back of Len’s head.

“Goddamn you, Len,” he chokes out, kisses Len and hopes it conveys what he wants to say because words are not something he can work with right now.

Mick follows him over the edge, Len and him so close together that they might as well be one body. Len is out of it, could be in whole another world at that moment, still shaking with aftershocks.

Mick’s smoothing his hands over soft, freckled skin on his hips, soothing him with hushed noises until he can speak.

“You don’t know how much I love you, do you? You have no idea.” He says quietly.

Len coughs, “What did you just say?” he asks breathlessly.

Mick’s hand stills where it was soothingly rubbing Len’s flank. There’s still a grain of doubt in his mind that he wasn’t aware of until now.

“Mick, repeat it.” Len asks again, desperately.

Mick shifts so he’s facing him fully. He lets his eyes wander over Len’s face, the freckles on his cheeks and nose, the tiny scar under his nose, just above the dip in a bow of his upper lip, the silver in his blue eyes. _Goddamnit, but did he really think he could keep it to himself forever?_

“I love you,” he says with a wet chuckle, feels a rush of affection so strong he almost chokes on it, “I said I love you.”

And Len gasps- the most fucking beautiful sound in the whole fucking world. He lets out a sob and pulls Mick in for a kiss. It’s not even a kiss, just their faces smushed together clumsily, but _it’s amazing._

Mick is trying to pull back- he has so much more to tell him- but Len is not done. He’s just clinging to Mick by this point, shaking and gasping and-

“ _Are you laughing_?” Mick asks incredulously even as a smile tugs at his lips.

“It’s you,” Len blurts out, “Mick, it’s you.”

Mick stops himself from rolling his eyes because, yeah, “I know.”

Len lets him go now, though all Mick does is sit up, Len’s legs still bracketing him. Len lifts up on his elbows.

“What? You- you’ve known? All this time?” He asks sounding hurt.

Mick startles because, _crap, that came out wrong_ , “What? No, you jackass! I figured it out in the living room.”

“Oh.” Len says, a funny expression on his face. Shyness, maybe ( _it’s adorable_ ).

They’re silent after that. Mick is pretty sure they’re both processing this relatively new turn of events. He’s going over all the details he cataloged in the living room and then, suddenly it dawns on him again- _Len was going to die_. He snaps his eyes at Len.

“You bastard,” Mick says, eyes wide- he’s livid, he wants to punch something and his eyes land on a pillow.

Len splutters when hit, blinking in surprise as Mick explodes.

“You fucker-“ he starts.

“ _I think that’s actually you in this situation_.”

“- are you fucking kidding me?! What the hell were you thinking?! You almost- you were gonna _die_!”

“I’m sorry.” Len pipes up again.

“You better fucking be! I can’t believe you! Jesus fucking Christ, Len.” He shakes his head then, remembering who he’s dealing with, and tips it upwards, eyes on the ceiling.

“Who am I kidding? _Of course_ you’d rather die than talk about feelings. This is absolutely something you’d do.”

“Hey!” Len protests.

“Don’t ‘Hey!’ me, you know it’s true.”

 “I’m sorry,” Len says again after a moment of silence, his head bowed.

Mick is ready to hear all the reasons why Len couldn’t tell him, so he can tell Len to shove them up his ass because _he was about to die_. But it seems like Len is having an epiphany of his own, so Mick patiently waits for his ‘ _I told you so_ ’ moment

 “I’m an idiot.” Len says eventually.

“ _The_ idiot, Lenny.” Mick corrects him immediately, can’t help it if he lets it be known he’s happy that the idiot is still alive.

Len peeks at him through his eyelashes and Mick is two seconds away from gathering him in his arms and kissing him within the inch of his life.

“I can’t believe you actually smacked me with a pillow.” Len says petulantly.

“Go wheeze about it.” Mick shoots back because there’s no way he’s letting this go anytime soon. He can’t wait to tell Lisa.

But for now, Len is sitting up, arms reaching for Mick even as he's already leaning in for another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, congratulations on sticking around to the end.   
> Fun fact: this is the first multi-chapter fanfic I actually finished, so yay me!   
> I hope you liked this as much as I liked writing it. Thank you to everyone for reading and commenting, it means so much! <3


End file.
